Building A Family
by Raouldehadleyfraser
Summary: This is the story of a 14 year old Charles d'Artagnan after he ends up on the street and is taken in by a melancholy drunkard named Athos, who he comes to see as a second father. They meet the others along the way, and become a new family, one that's rather full of oddities and idiots, but they all love each other, nonetheless. Already posted on AO3
1. Chapter 1

A/N: So I hope you all enjoy this story. I'm certainly rather fond of it, though I am currently stuck on chapter 3. I am also still brainstorming the "d'art had a sister" fic so don't worry, those of you who wanted to see that, but for now, this is what I'm working on. Beta-ed by placeofold on tumblr.

* * *

Athos, for the most part, had contented himself with wallowing in misery in the corner of whatever tavern he might find himself in. This one in particular had wonderfully cheap drink, even if it did taste disgusting. The fact of the matter was that he drank it because it was disgusting. His sins, real and horrifying, meant that he did not deserve good wine. He stayed in the tavern until the owner turned him out, and began to stumble back towards his lodgings on unsteady feet, faltering every few steps and cursing when he did so.

Athos' vision had become so blurred and unfocused that he did not notice the leg that was hanging out from behind a dingy alley way. He tripped and was shocked when a young lad, no more than fourteen years of age, let out a startled yelp at the weight now collapsed over his legs. The boy seemed terrified at first, Athos noticed, but when he realised that it was only a drunkard and not someone more sinister, the boy kicked him off his legs none too gently. Athos rolled off of him limply, which seemed to alarm the boy more than anything else.  
Standing up, the child walked over to Athos' prone form and shook him. "Monsieur?" He inquired, hoping that the man was indeed just passed out and not dead. "Are you alive?"  
The only answer the boy got was a pathetic groan, as the man rolled over on his side and promptly vomited on the street. The boy stepped back and turned his nose up at the smell, but sighed resignedly.

"I suppose I'll just have to find another place to sleep, now that you've stunk this place up" he grumbled, making to stand up and dust himself off. The boy folded his arms tightly against his chest and stood as tall as he could, Athos noticed, puffing himself up like some young pup trying to defend its territory.  
Athos took a shuddering breath in as he managed to sit, blinking up at the boy while trying to clear his vision. He wiped his mouth of the last traces of vomit and grimaced at the vile taste that remained. As he slowly regained his bearings, Athos turned his attention to the child in front of him.

The boy seemed thin and it was evident that he had been sleeping on the streets for a while, if the smell of him was any indication. That he had the nerve to complain about Athos stinking up the place did not escape his attention. His clothes, though worn and simple, were not those one would expect of a gamin. Nor did the boy seem to have the presence of mind to flee from someone who could be dangerous to him as others who had known the streets for long would. Athos' eyes darted to the sword that the boy had hung from his belt. It was big for him, though his structure suggested that he would eventually grow into it, and was simply made but elegant. Athos wondered absently how such a boy could come to have such a weapon, and whether this child, who looked as though a stiff breeze would fell him, had stolen it from someone else.  
The lad caught Athos staring at him and his eyes narrowed, shifting his feet and body unconsciously into a defensive stance. It was comical, really. The lad looked no more than thirteen - what did he think he could do against Athos, should the man decide that he was worth the trouble of fighting?

"I didn't steal it, if that's what you're thinking, Monsieur" the boy said quietly, his eyes averted as he tightened his grip around the hilt protectively. "It was my father's". The statement sounded so proud and quiet, and utterly heartbroken, that Athos nodded him an apology and lowered his eyes in shame at the assumption.

"My apologies. Though I am curious, what has happened that has caused you to be so far from home young man?", because he could tell the Gascon accent a mile off, and they were quite far from there indeed. Athos watched as the boy's eyes began to mist over, and as the boy realised what was happening, his eyes narrowed and he turned to look away.

"It's not any business of yours, Monsieur" he said disdainfully, as he turned back to stare Athos down but Athos could hear the anguish in his voice as plain as day. "My father is dead, my mother and my sister are dead, and my uncle did not want the burden of caring for me, so he cast me out. All I have in this world is what you see here, Monsieur." The boy did not break eye contact at all, daring Athos to say a word. Athos conceded and bowed his head, heart despairing for the boy who had indeed lost much.  
An uncomfortable silence fell over the pair, each lost in their memories. Finally d'Artagnan broke it. "I will say no more on the matter, Monsieur. I shall leave and let you be on your way. I am sure you cannot wish to stay out here with me all night."

"Do you have a name, lad?" Athos asked, hit with a sudden desire to extend his conversation with this sad and damaged child, and was surprised when the boy answered without any hesitation at all.  
"Charles d'Artagnan of Lupiac in Gascony, son of the late Alexandre d'Artagnan". Athos smiled at the way the boy stood taller, and puffed his chest out proudly as he introduced himself. "And you, Monsieur?"

"You may call me Athos, if you wish". The name still felt strange on his tongue but it was the one he had decided upon, and it was staying with him from now on.

The boy frowned, before laughing at him. "Monsieur", he exclaimed, his face lighting up for the first time since he had tripped over the lad, "that is the name of a mountain." Athos nodded, smiling fondly at the boy's clear amusement. He studied the boy's face for a while, searching for something before nodding to himself, wondering if he had gone quite completely mad for what he was about to suggest.

"I am heading to Paris in the morning. If you'd like, you could come with me?"

d'Artagnan blinked owlishly at him. Was the man insane as well as drunk, or had he pickled his brain in spirits? He certainly smelled like it. D'Artagnan watched, half hopeful, half suspicious.  
"Why?" He asked, genuinely curious as to Athos' reasons. He knew that Athos was a man of honour. He could sense it, as he had learnt to sense the danger or hostility in others he had met in his time on the street, but he had never been offered a place before. He had never been offered friendship before.

There were those who were all too eager to offer him "a bed for the night", and a lifetime with an older sister had given him enough knowledge to know what that meant, and he had run from them as if the devil were at his heels. This was not that though, the young Gascon was sure.

Athos, by contrast, seemed to actually care. Perhaps it was the story of his family - well, not much of the story, the bare bones of it, and even that just barely – that swayed his mind, though d'Artagnan was struggling to comprehend why. The confusion began to show on his face, and Athos smiled up at him from where he was still kneeling, reaching out a hand to place on the boy's shoulder. To his credit, d'Artagnan forgot to flinch.

"Because" Athos began, his voice regretful and grave. "I know what it is to lose everything". This was an answer which d'Artagnan could accept, and as he stared at the older man, he saw someone who was full of regret and punishing himself, as if every wrong ever done in the history of man was placed square on his shoulders.

D'Artagnan nodded, reaching out a hand to help the man stand up. He was still a little wobbly, but seemed to have regained most of the control over his limbs.

Athos smiled wryly and dusted himself off, turning to head in the direction of the inn he had been lodging at. Walking forward a few paces, he turned when he did not hear the footsteps of the boy behind him.

He tilted his head and raised an eyebrow. "Well, are you coming?"

To his credit, d'Artagnan only hesitated a few seconds longer before hurrying to catch up with him. Athos gave him a faint smile and clapped him on the back, though he didn't miss the boy's wince. He made a mental noted that and filed it away to ask about later.

"Let's get you a warm meal and a hot bath. God knows, you're dirty enough". D'Artagnan huffed and shoved him lightly, but it did not have much effect when outshone by the hesitant, but brilliant, smile adorning his face at the mere mention of a bath and the thought of being clean again. Athos was glad of that. Perhaps in raising this boy, in caring for nothing but his health and happiness, he could find his salvation.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Here's chapter 2. Only have about 500 words of chapter 3 done so far, but I'll try and finish it tonight, though I'll wait until it gets beta-ed to post it :)

Up to chapter 4 will probably just be Athos and d'Art. Then Treville will be there, and the others will appear as we go along.

We'll get to see a pre-Savoy Aramis and Marsac, so yeah that should be fun.

Also d'Art's gonna have some friends in the Court of Miracles (but it's not gonna be how he meets Porthos)

* * *

When they arrived at the inn, the matron merely raised a questioning eyebrow at the sight of d'Artagnan before shrugging and letting them be on their way up to Athos' room. Athos paused as he passed her, asking for hot water to be drawn up for a bath for the lad, and some hot soup for the both of them. She huffed about it, but when he pressed some coins into her hand she seemed a lot friendlier. Athos bit back a growl - was no one honest these days?

D'Artagnan stuck close behind him, using Athos as a shield against any stares directed in their direction, eyes darting nervously around the room looking for threats. He did not relax until Athos closed the door behind them, and he nervously looked from Athos to the bed.

"You don't get to sleep until you've had your bath, young man." He told him sternly. D'Artagnan glared at him, but there wasn't any force behind it. He was just exhausted, and as nice as a bath sounded, he could see the bed, and he could practically feel the warmth and comfort from halfway across the room.

Athos must have noticed the change on his face because he smiled faintly. "But before all that - I do believe the good lady of this establishment has come to serve us dinner, my lad." He opened the door again, and took two steaming bowls of… Athos was not quite sure whether it was stew or soup but he did not much care. He took them with good grace and thanked the woman, and handed one to d'Artagnan, who beamed tiredly at him.

Athos did not know whether he should be glad of the boy's happiness or feel guilty that he had not eaten this well for weeks, from the way he gazed at it so greedily. D'Artagnan looked up at his new companion as if asking Athos' permission to begin eating. At Athos' nod, he tucked in, eating at first as if someone would take it away from him at a moment's notice. Wincing at the way the boy was wolfing his food down, Athos laid a hand on his arm. "Slow down, no-one here will take it from you. You do not want it coming back up again".

D'Artagnan looked down sheepishly and apologized.

"No need lad," Athos told him gently, sipping at his own bowl "there's nothing to apologize for." He tried to observe the way d'Artagnan acted without seeming like he was staring, but he did not doubt that the boy could feel his eyes on him. "So… Gascony?" He asked once the boy put the bowl down.  
D'Artagnan stilled in his chair and looked away.

"Yes? What about it?" His posture was defensive, as if he were trying to protect himself from an enemy. Athos sighed, disappointed but not willing to press if it made the boy this uncomfortable. After all, who was he to ask the boy to talk about his past, when he himself was too full of fresh grief and betrayal to even consider sharing his own.

"How did you manage to get here from Gascony?" Athos asked, drawing away from his original question, but hoping that it would help ease the boy into his own story. D'Artagnan still looked wary, and paused for a long time, no doubt choosing his words very carefully.

D'Artagnan paused for so long, that Athos assumed that he was avoiding the question, before a quiet voice shocked him out of his stupor. "I… I had a horse, for the first leg of the journey, only the old yellow working nag, we do not…did not own any great horses. I rode hard and fast, but I did not really have any destination in mind. When I got to town and I tried to sell the horse…" He looked away and gritted his teeth. Evidently there was something of wounded pride in that expression and Athos did not have to wait long to find the reason behind it. "They said I must have stolen it, the horse, and so they took it and left me horseless and moneyless. I had thought I might get a fair price on account of her curious yellow coat, but I ended up with nothing."

"A sorry affair indeed" Athos sympathised. "Still, no matter, that is one which I can soon rectify. Come tomorrow, d'Artagnan, you shall have a horse. You will need one, indeed, if we are to make Paris in good time." D'Artagnan could not help how his eyes dampened at this stranger's kindness - how far in debt would he be with this man?

"If you please, sir, what is it that takes you to Paris?" He asked timidly. Athos' own face clouded over for but a moment, but it was a fleeting shadow, and d'Artagnan wondered if perhaps he had merely fancied such a thing.

"I am going to become a King's Musketeer."

All at once, d'Artagnan was filled with a deep admiration. His father had often spoken of his friend, a Gascon like themselves, who had become captain of said Musketeers, and he had wanted nothing more in his childhood than to join them one day. Athos noticed the way the boy was looking at him and shook his head, half-amused by him. "Quite honestly, I am not quite sure how I shall balance taking care of you, and my duties to them."

"Sir, is Monsieur Treville still captain of the Musketeers?" Surprised at hearing the name from the boy's mouth, Athos nodded.

"Aye, I do believe so. He is from Gascony also, I hear. Do you know him?"

"Not I, but father spoke fondly of him, and their adventures together as youths." Athos could not help a smile. Perhaps all should be well after all.

"In that case, I suspect we shall find some way to make the best of things, if your father and he were good friends." D'Artagnan nodded, but grew sombre and quiet again. Athos realised that it would perhaps be prudent to turn the conversation away from dead relatives, and the timely arrival of the matron with a basin of hot water provided as good an excuse for such a turn as any. D'Artagnan looked from the basin, which had been left just inside the door as the matron excused herself, and then to Athos, and back to the basin again, thinly veiled distain and something altogether different appearing in his eyes.

Athos took the cloth that she had left with it and soaked it in the water, wringing it out a few times before looking at d'Artagnan expectantly.

"Shirt off then" he instructed, "and we'll get you washed. You must have an awful layer of dirt on you by now." As d'Artagnan bristled, Athos took note of his easily wounded pride and smiled wryly. That was something he could deal with, and in the scowl that his words had earned him, he caught a glimpse of Thomas as he was when he was but a teen.

When he reached forward to remove d'Artagnan's grimy shirt, disregarding the boy's protest, he was met with a reaction more in tune with a wounded animal. His eyes flashed up to the boy's face in realisation, and he dropped his hands away from d'Artagnan gently and carefully.

"Lad…" He spoke softly, crouching so that he did not intimidate the boy. He reached out slowly and gently, placing a hand on d'Artagnan's shoulder, and waited until he meet his eyes. "If you are hurt, I need to know. You must not be afraid to show me, it will be alright."

Moments passed, and Athos waited, not letting his gaze waver as d'Artagnan searched his face for something. He seemed to find whatever he was looking for and he nodded to himself, sitting on the nearby chair. He nodded once at Athos, and with his permission, Athos continued to remove the shirt, though this time carefully, taking into consideration the injuries he strongly suspected lay under the boy's shirt. Athos noticed that d'Artagnan did not raise his arms any further than he had to, and as he removed the last of the tattered shirt, he soon saw why.

The dirt on d'Artagnan's body did not hide any of the dark bruises under his skin. The entirety of his torso was painted black, blue and yellow underneath the grime, and several muddied cuts littered his skin. If Athos had to guess, they seemed to be the result of particularly harsh blows. The boy had been beaten, without mercy, multiple times.

Athos bit back a growl at the obvious cruelty, but d'Artagnan must have seen the fury in his eyes, and he shuffled back slightly in his chair involuntary, curling up slightly as if to make himself a smaller target. Athos sighed and gently tossed the shirt to the side, picking up the wash cloth again.

"d'Artagnan…" He spoke as if to an infant, full of care and the utmost gentleness, "It's alright, lad. I'm just going to get you nice and clean - that's alright, isn't it?" He waited until the boy had relaxed once more, and nodded his assent before beginning to tentatively wipe at the dirt and grime which had formed a thick layer over his skin.

Every so often his efforts would gain him a pained gasp or a half-sob that d'Artagnan attempted to stifle, and he would murmur reassurances and apologies all the while. Once he was done, Athos could see the full extent of the damage, which was concentrated around d'Artagnan's ribs. When Athos checked, they did not seem to be broken though, thankfully, just severely bruised. Still, one could not be too prudent, so Athos decided that wrapping them would be the wisest course of action. He stood slowly, walked to his pack and collected up a few of the wads of wrapping material he had purchased on his way to Paris.

That done, and with d'Artagnan bearing it with a quiet dignity that was admirable in a man but worrisome in a lad of fourteen, Athos found a pain draught from his pack and gave it to the boy.

"Here, you will rest easier for it." He assured him.

Trusting, now that he was tended to, that Athos truly wished only the best for him the Gascon took the potion, downed it with a grimace, and gave him back the bottle turning towards the comfort of the bed. He seemed half asleep already as he crossed the room slowly, and would have fallen upon it with a loud thump had Athos not caught him and lowered him down gently, before covering him with the rough blanket.

He breathed deeply and slept easily, which Athos was thankful for. No doubt he had enough to dream of, but the Musketeer-to-be had hope that d'Artagnan's rest would be untroubled by horrors this night.

Satisfied, Athos disposed of the water out of the window and left the basin outside their door before settling down at the foot of the bed to sleep himself. Tomorrow they would set about finding a horse for d'Artagnan, and then they would journey onward to Paris, leaving their pasts behind them.

* * *

A/N: You lot should know by now that I thrive on reviews, so please let me know your thoughts so far, ideas for how you want certain meetings to happen etc. (I already have my own ideas, but it would be nice to bounce some around with folks)


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Sorry this has taken so long, but both myself and my wonderful beta reader have been busy with our real lives. I can't promise regular updates as of yet, but I hope you enjoy this

* * *

When d'Artagnan woke in a bed, feeling the warm sunlight on his face, he forgot for a moment that his parents were gone and that he was far from home. When he felt a hand shaking his shoulder gently he just groaned into his pillow and grumbled "Five more minutes, pa".

The hand froze, and there was a sigh from above him, a sigh did not sound anything like his father.  
The memories came crashing back down and he opened his eyes to see Athos looking worriedly over him. D'Artagnan blinked back the tears that threatened and stung at his eyes as he sat up and rubbed them.

"Monsieur Athos", he greeted the man, who merely cleared his throat and mercifully looked away as d'Artagnan attempted to compose himself.

"Happier times?"

"Hmmm." He agreed noncommittally, before adding quietly, "Sometimes they're worse than the nightmares."

Athos tilted his head in agreement before slamming his head into a bucket of cold water. D'Artagnan could not help but laugh at the sight.

"I almost forgot you had been drinking last night", d'Artagnan said quietly when Athos lifted his head from the bucket, hair dripping, to glare half-heartedly at him. "You seemed so… well, not like other drunks that stumbled across me on the street, at any rate."

As he said this, his hand unconsciously rubbed at his side. It felt so much better than it had the night before, thanks to Athos' help, but he still grimaced in pain when he sat up and kicked his legs over the bed.

Athos paused, however pretended not to notice. "No, I don't suppose I am. I'm rather new to the habit, you see, so I am quite unfamiliar to how a drunkard ought to behave".

He shook his head to remove the excess water and then dressed himself and firmly attached his sword to his waist.

"Can you use your sword, boy?"

d'Artagnan's face reddened and he shook his head. "Not well. Father only taught me a little before… b-". His lip quivered and he bit it to keep the tears from spilling out.

"Alright", Athos said in a soft voice, "that's alright. I only meant that perhaps I could begin teaching you? I have often been commended on my excellent swordsmanship". D'Artagnan was surprised he said this with not an inch of arrogance, and just the right amount of pride. In his experience, those with great skill in the sword did not usually hold themselves back from boasting about their talents to all and sundry. Though the majority of those men were from wealthy or noble houses, houses that had the means to train their sons to be strong swordsmen, and that made the young Gascon curious.

"Are you a nobleman, Athos? Is that why you won't tell me your name?"

The man in question turned and raised an eyebrow, but he was frowning. "Is it truly that obvious?" He asked.

D'Artagnan smiled and rolled his eyes. "Only to anyone who can see you. It's in the way you walk - when you aren't blind drunk of course. Also, you talk like a gentleman. All proper like."

"And you sound like a Gascon", Athos retorted, a soft smile gracing his face, enjoying this easy banter even if it was at his own expense.

"Ah, but I am not attempting to hide that I am a Gascon. I imagine you have reasons, which are your own of course, as mine are my own, for running from your life." D'Artagnan conceded. "Still, you look like a scruffy farm dog with your hair like that - perhaps that is disguise enough."

"You are mistaken in thinking that I am running from an assailant - I am not." His voice was tired and defeated, and d'Artagnan regarded him carefully for a while, worrying at his lip and narrowing his eyes when Athos refused to meet them.

"Hmmm. You said something about a horse, earlier, did you not?" d'Artagnan asked, deciding not to pursue the matter any further, they had known each other for hardly a day after all. Relieved, Athos gave him a short nod.

"Yes, I do believe that I did. Are you well enough to walk to the stables? Or shall I let you stay here whilst I collect your mount?"

D'Artagnan glared, but Athos saw in his eyes a half-hidden fear. He silently cursed himself when he realised what he had suggested.

"I'm not going to leave you on your own, Charles. I promise I'll take care of you." _Like you took care of Thomas? Look how well that turned out_, the traitorous voice inside his head reminded him. Athos groaned, half wishing for the numbness that drink gave him, but it was morning, and he had a child in his care now. He should at least try to be responsible, for sake of the boy.

D'Artagnan nodded, trusting to Athos' words. It would take him time to get used to him, and his oddities, but he knew by now that the man would not hurt him. He knew that, so why was it so horrendously difficult to make himself accept it? He was frustrated with himself, but he couldn't help his inherent distrust of people. Still, he was determined to make this work, as it was the best chance he had of any sort of normal life.

Pressing past Athos, d'Artagnan turned to make sure he was following. "Come on," he urged, a careful smile adhered to is face. "I know exactly where the stables in this town are."

The forced brightness in his tone made Athos' gut lurch. From d'Artagnan's earlier story, these were the same people who stole his first horse, and if she was anything like the useless nag d'Artagnan had made her out to be, she had probably already gone to the slaughter. Not only had they stolen his animal, but they had beaten him - beaten him so badly that his entire torso was painted black and blue and he flinched away every time someone so much as looked in his direction. Athos felt the beginnings or a warm rage settle in his chest, simmering, as he followed the boy out of their lodgings and through the town towards the stables.

_

There was nothing Athos wanted more in this moment than to punch the man who approached them as they looked at the available horses. When the large, filthy man firth appeared, d'Artagnan flinched and subtly moved so that Athos was between him and the man who beat him, trembling slightly.

"Good day, Monsieur - are you and your son looking to buy some horses?" D'Artagnan stilled at that, and looked up uncertainly at Athos, who gave him a small nod as indication that everything would be alright. Clearly the man hadn't recognised him now that he was washed and in clean clothes - the boy scrubbed up rather well, thought Athos absently. He felt d'Artagnan relax slightly, his spine lengthening like steal at the reassurance, holding himself proudly.

"Yes," he answered smoothly, "but just for my son here."

"And what would the little lad like? I've a placid little grey mare-"

"I'll take the bay gelding with the two back socks, if you please, sir." D'Artagnan told him, barely concealed venom in the boy's voice as he stood tall and proud next to Athos, not looking away from him, not even flinching when the man bent down to look him in the eyes.

"Tha's no a horse fer a boy, lad. The mare would be better" the man insisted, but d'Artagnan would not be swayed.

"That mare is half-blind and her left foreleg is sprained. I won't be had, monsieur. I've been around horses all my life, so you might as well give me the bay before things turn ugly."

The man drew himself up to his full height and sputtered. "You! Boy, you dare to threaten me?"

He reached forward to grab d'Artagnan by the collar, but soon found a sword levelled at his throat.  
"It's you…the little horse thief!" Evidently, he recognised d'Artagnan's defiance better than he recognised his face.

"I believe my lad asked for the bay gelding. You would do well to give it to him, and therefore avoid any… unpleasantness." Athos' sharp gaze pierced the man and he was forced to look away. Athos did not lower his sword until the man turned to collect the horse. He met d'Artagnan's gaze and gave him a small nod and a smile, at which the boy's face.

"And the only thief here is you. You stole from this boy the only thing he had left of his home - perhaps it was just an ugly yellow mare, but such a horse is better than nothing. So, we shall take the bay as recompense for your theft, and you will not receive a penny from us." He leant towards the man again, and pressed his sword against his throat. "Do not think I won't kill you if you so much as touch him again - understood?"

The man, still staring and the sword, nodded and handed the reins over to d'Artagnan, careful not to make any direct contact with the boy.

"Good. Now run along, and do your business whilst we attend to ours, and we can forget all this ever happened." With that, Athos helped d'Artagnan up onto the horse and walked by his side, leaving a very stunned horse dealer in their wake.

As they travelled further away from the stables, Athos noticed D'Artagnan gripped onto the mane of his gelding for dear life, nearly hyperventilating in his delayed panic.

"Easy, easy there lad, enough. It's over. He's gone. By this time tomorrow we shall be in Paris, and you will never have to see that man again."

He placed his hand on the boy's thigh reassuringly whilst d'Artagnan got his breath back under control, and murmured quietly, "That was very brave of you. Your parents raised a fine lad."  
D'Artagnan's breath caught in his throat, and he hardly trusted himself to speak. "I… right. Thank you."

They walked the rest of the way in relative silence after that, the soothing repetitive motion of the horse's walk helping d'Artagnan to calm himself down.

"Are your ribs bothering you?" Athos asked softly. D'Artagnan shook his head, smiling at his concern.  
"I am well enough to ride. Probably not at anything more than a nice easy canter, but we aren't in too great a hurry, I hope?"

Athos shook his head as they returned to the inn and gave the horse to a stable hand whilst they collected their things and Athos paid for their stay.

"Will everything really be alright now?" d'Artagnan eventually asked when they were on the road towards Paris. For a long while, Athos was quiet, considering his words carefully.

"We can never know what the future brings, my lad - but I hope so, by God for both of our sakes, I hope so."


End file.
